


Later that evening

by xtenn



Series: The Viscount Who Sure As Hell Didn't Deserve Kate [7]
Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Canon Rewrite, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:22:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29180964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtenn/pseuds/xtenn
Summary: To sum up:Anthony didn't kiss Kate in his study.Anthony and Kate are not being required to wed, after the bee sting.Everyone is extremely annoyed with Anthony (and have no qualms about letting him know).And Kate? Kate is confused, and full of self-doubt.So what happens later that evening?This is a canon rewrite that started as a one shot and is now a series but should probably be chapters in a single work. All credit is due to Ms Quinn for her characters and stories - I've taken some of her words and twisted them into this, a journey into a different trouser leg of time.
Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sheffield
Series: The Viscount Who Sure As Hell Didn't Deserve Kate [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129715
Comments: 24
Kudos: 151





	1. Anthony

Anthony cursed to himself and shifted in the armchair - his body ached from the day of riding, and his eyes were gritty from tiredness. Too many sleepless nights, thinking of Kate. Would she even come to the library? What sort of lady would? Anthony grimaced at the memory of her words: _you have repeatedly failed to either charm or intimidate me, and I have no intention of trapping you_. His mother's anger, Mrs Sheffield's look of hatred - and worst of all, the feel of Kate pushing him away, yelling "Stop!" Anthony rubbed his face, as if he could wipe off the shame that burned there, and he had not a clue how to make this right - those notes he had written were woefully inadequate, scribbled quickly in frustration, and he wondered crossly if his success with women had more to do with their willingness to be seduced by a young Viscount, Lord Bridgerton, than any of his particular charm.

He needed to talk to her, and he needed to hold her - to kiss those lips, to touch her and bring her pleasure, to make her wholly his and to belong to her in return. It would be so easy, so perfect, so right. To hell with propriety - let the ton talk about their hasty marriage! He was a viscount for God's sake, and he wanted Kate - and so why shouldn't he have her? They should have been caught in his study at the musicale, or in the library during the storm, and their mothers should have insisted on their marriage after the bee sting - it was becoming a greater effort to prevent this marriage from occurring than was at all worthwhile, particularly as he simply could not stop thinking about her. What had started as subconscious erotic fantasies was becoming a relentless obsession about all aspect of her person, and it terrified him: Where was she? What was she doing? Was she well - was she happy? Who was she with - and did she enjoy their company? When storm clouds next darkened the sky, who would be there for her, who would understand? What did she truly think of Aubrey Hall, his home? What did she think of his siblings - could she tolerate them, or dare he hope that she could even come to love them? And as for family, did she want children - and how many? But more importantly, would she want his children?

What would happen to her, at the end of this season - where would she go? 

Was it true that she would not have him - not even for his wealth, for her and her families' security, not even to prevent a scandal? Surely not?! If there was any talk, if this incident did not go unnoticed, he must offer and she must accept - that was the only honourable outcome. That it would result in his marriage to an intelligent, entertaining woman whom he happened to lust after around the clock was merely a bonus - or at least, that's what he tried to tell himself.

But his conscience, a damnable voice in his mind, was asking the worst questions of all: could he in good faith trap her into this marriage, knowing he would not, could not and should not love her? Could he make her the rich, miserable viscountess, knowing he would leave her too soon? If this marriage could at all be avoided, wasn't that the best option - for both of their peace of mind - but if not, shouldn't she at least know?

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until his eyes closed. 


	2. Penelope

Pen hugged her pillow, and let the tears fall silently.

It was too late - the draft had been sent yesterday, before the bee sting, and could not be recalled, certainly not from Aubrey Hall. The intention had been to bait Anthony. To gently tease him about his feelings for Kate, and his neglected suit of Edwina, in the hopes of encouraging him to follow his heart - but it was not intended to harm, and certainly not to cause any harm to Kate Sheffield. And yet after the events of yesterday afternoon, how could her column not do exactly that? 

Whatever had actually occurred in that garden had caused such a rift between the families, that all participants were doing their best to hide. Eloise was furious, but that was typical - and she merely said that Anthony was a hero in deeply sarcastic tones. Benedict and Colin clenched their jaws at the mention of Anthony's name. Violet had been crying, clearly - and Pen did not think that it was solely due to the memories of her husband's death. Daphne was being staunchly loyal and supportive of the Sheffields, and for what purpose? And Mrs Sheffield! She was clearly livid! 

As for Pen's mother - she was unusually tight lipped, and had only hissed at Penelope that she should be grateful for their invitation to Aubrey Hall. 

Penelope was at least hopeful that this had not been noticed by the other house guests - other than Mrs Sheffield's rage, the signs were subtle enough. Pen was close enough to the family for them to have not been quite so guarded - and, really, no-one ever noticed Penelope Featherington. It was the reason for her success as Whistledown. 

But with the publication of her next column tomorrow morning, any hope that this would be forgotten within the week, as was clearly the wishes of both the Bridgertons and the Sheffields, would be gone for good.

And there was simply nothing that Penelope could do about it. 


	3. Kate and Anthony

Anthony didn't know how much time had passed, but the click of the library door closing woke him and instantly he was on his feet.

Kate. In a nightgown, her hair down, holding her candle.

Anthony felt the breath leave his body in yearning. A few long strides carried him across the library, before he stopped abruptly in front of her, his arms briefly hovering. It was only with the strongest effort of will that he didn't crush Kate to his chest, kissing her senseless, molding her shape to his own.

"You came."

"Good evening, Lord Bridgerton." Internally, Kate's rational self screamed at her for being here, for taking such a foolish risk - _did you think something of interest would be a bloody book?_ \- but she was determined to maintain her composure, and retreated into formality. 

"Please, Kate - please know how sorry I am." 

"What for, my lord?"

"It's Anthony," he snapped. How was it possible that she was already annoying him? Kate merely raised an eyebrow at his outburst, and Anthony cursed softly, rubbing his face tiredly.

"Everyone is quite impressed with your heroics," Kate continued, reciting facts coldly. "I have not been compromised. We will return to London in the morning, and the season will resume as normal."

"Normal?" Anthony spat. Nothing about this season had been _normal_.

"Are you truly concerned for your reputation, my lord?" Kate offered, to fill the silence, her bearing and manner resolutely and frustratingly cold - none of that angry jesting that had been so tempting in his study - but both minds turned to her words at that time: _shame, Lord Bridgerton_.

"No, dammit, I'm concerned for yours. Without another scandal to attract attention, you must know that this will not be forgotten quickly."

"And asking me to meet you in the library in the middle of the night is certain to assist with that!" Kat snapped back. Why was this conversation already becoming an argument?

"I had to see you," Anthony countered, with equal anger. "Not from across a room. Alone, to talk, before you left my house and your company was barred from me forever."

Kate bit her tongue from responding, and nodded reluctantly, agreeing but very unwillingly. She had been under Mary's constant supervision all day, and had no doubt that on their return to London, Mary would do her best to ensure that they would not be home to the Bridgertons ever again, or so much as accept a dance. Kate's mind idly wondered again how that would help the _ton_ to forget, and shook her head in frustration at the constant games they were expected to play.

“I thought we ought to discuss our marriage,” Anthony continued. Anthony had never dreamed of how he would propose, but this certainly was not it - how could he stand across the room from this lady, who had haunted his every thought, awake and asleep, as she stood there in her nightgown, willingly risking yet another scandal, and casually discuss what were essentially business terms and his imminent demise?

“I beg your pardon?" Kate interrupted in disbelief. "I don't remember you asking, or me accepting!”

"Only if we must be married, if there is talk," Anthony clarified, and while Kate did not outwardly respond, this acknowledgement that he would only marry her if he must hurt dreadfully, but at least she knew. “We’re both practical people. I think we’ll find ourselves more at ease once we understand what we can expect from one another."

"I have no dowry. You should know that I have no dowry.”

“I have no need for your money, Kate," Anthony replied with no gentleness and a touch of scorn. Kate glared at him for a long moment, furious at the immense difference in their wealth and position in society, and at how little power she had in any negotiation. Anthony cursed to himself and tried to continue. "Look, I know we did not get off to the most favorable of starts,” he said, scowling slightly when she nodded her agreement, “but I feel - and I hope that you do as well - that we have since reached a friendship of sorts.” Kate merely nodded, not trusting herself to comment. “Friendship between the husband and the wife is of the utmost importance,” he pontificated, “even more important, in my opinion, than love.” 

Kate could only look at him with confusion.

“If there's talk of this scandal, or your reputation, or that of your family - and we should know within the month, I am sure - then Mrs Sheffield and my mother will be bought to reason. I will court you for the minimum respectable time, we will announce our engagement and we will marry." Anthony warmed into his speech, pacing lightly around the library and punctuating his points with deft movements of his hands. "You will be a rich viscountess, and able to provide for your family. I would be happy to provide a dowry for Edwina. Our marriage will be based on our friendship, and mutual respect. We shall have children—intelligent children, thank God, since you are quite the most intelligent woman of my acquaintance. I will do my best to be a good husband to you, and I expect that you will not behave in any manner that will sully my family’s name.” 

Kate felt her spine stiffen. “I would not dream of it.” 

“I didn’t think you would, and that is why - if, of course, it is required that we marry - I think it will be a truly successful match."

"It is hardly a love match, my lord," Kate commented, with a raise of her eyebrow and a trace of irony for her own, closely guarded feelings.

“No," Anthony agreed, fervently. "And you should not expect love. This marriage will not be about love. Provided that you do not bar me from your bed, and I swear to give you no reason to do, I shall be faithful to both you and our vows, but there are certain things I cannot give you, and love, I’m afraid, is one of them.” 

At this, Kate almost laughed, shaking her head. She had expected to remain a spinster, and the most she had permitted herself to imagine was a country gentleman who would respect her - a quiet home with sufficient comforts. It pained her now to see how much faith she had placed in her younger sister, who was barely seventeen years old, to make the fortuitous match that would ensure their mutual wellbeing for the decades to come based only on her beauty and sweet disposition, and a few months of time. Now Kate had this opportunity, to be the rich viscountess and provide for her family, how could she so hypocritically turn it away, simply because it would not be love? Particularly when the other option may well be ruin for them all? Breathe, Kate, she told herself: if she were to fall in love with him - well, she would have to keep it to herself.

But love or not, did she not at least deserve honesty?

"Well, do you agree, Kate?" Anthony huffed, unable to bear her mocking gaze for another moment. No, this was certainly not how he had ever imagined proposing.

“It is merely that I do not believe you, my lord." 

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?” 

“That you would be faithful," Kate continued, trying to remain lighthearted about it and ignore the hurt. "I simply cannot believe you, and we know you are not a liar." 

Anthony staggered back at this accusation, speechless. What was he, if not a man of honour? Yet his reaction, to be affronted by what she had considered to be an honest statement, angered Kate greatly.

"You have just told me that I cannot expect you to love me, and you have previously said you would not cease to have a mistress if you did not love your wife! So is there someone else - someone else you actually desire? Do you not think I deserve to know, if I am to agree to this? Or if there is not someone else now, how could I not expect you to find someone else, when you do not desire me?"

“You think there's someone else - that I don’t desire you?” he choked out. 

“No, of course you don't," Kate cried out. "I do not know much of what occurs between a man and a woman, but I know a man doesn’t have to feel desire or love for a woman to find pleasure with her - and I could not expect such a man to be faithful!” 

At this, Anthony could simply not hold back - before he could think, and before she could say more, his lips were on hers, his hand on the back of her neck, pulling her to him. When she opened her mouth in surprise, he deepened the kiss - encouraging her response and delighted when it was inexpertly returned. Her arms had entwined themselves around his neck, and her fingers wound themselves in his hair. This, without a doubt, was the reason she had answered his note and come to the library, and he was confident at least in this that he would not disappoint.

Kate gasped as his hands stole around to her backside and pressed her harshly against his arousal.

“Do you see?” he said raggedly, his lips moving along her cheek. “Do you feel?” He chuckled hoarsely, an odd mocking sound. “Do you even understand?”

"No, I don't understand," Kate responded, trying not to sound bitter. "I don't!"

Anthony reluctantly removed his lips and his hands, his eyes burning. Part of himself pleaded with Fate for someone, anyone of consequence, to come into the library right at this instance, to stop this ridiculous bartering over a marriage that, to Anthony at least, seemed destined and necessary to occur. Another, baser, part of himself had vividly provided his mind with every means, every step, to take her - right here, now, in the library - and to claim Kate as his own forever. 

"You know I don't understand," Kate huffed, trying not to sound petulant. "So explain it to me."

Anthony gently picked up her hand, and bought it to his lips for a soft kiss. Holding her hand lightly, he led her fingers down his torso, watching her eyes follow. Even this gentle pressure, through his clothes, burned into body - his arousal thickening to almost pain. So by the time their hands reached the very top of his breeches, his breath was ragged.

"When a man desires a woman, this happens," he whispered, gently leading her fingers lower. "I desire you. I can’t sleep at night for wanting you. Even when I didn’t like you, I lusted for you. Any thought I have of you, the sound of your voice or the scent of lillies or the mention of your name... this happens, and I need you. It’s the most maddening, beguiling, damnable thing, but there it is."

Kate's eyes were wide, her mouth open in astonishment. A column of heat was straining against the front of Anthony's trousers, and any sense of chastity she felt was quickly quashed by curiosity. Anthony grabbed the bookshelf behind them, holding on to stay upright, and exhaled sharply. Her hand withdrew instantly.

"My apologies, does this ... hurt?"

Anthony met her gaze with fierce intensity, reaching blindly for her hand to bring it back between them, but letting her close the distance, should she choose to continue. "Quite the opposite, Kate - let's just say that I enjoy it, very much."

"Like the stallion," she whispered. "I saw it once, at our stables," she added in explanation.

Anthony was shocked to discover he was blushing like a boy, as if he had never been touched in this way before, and he could no longer meet her eyes. What was it about Kate, that when her fingers continued to explore - maddening, light touches through too much fabric, as she felt from side to side, from his tip to his base - he felt he might explode?

"I like to think .." gasped Anthony, struggling to form coherent sentences, his fists flexing as they yearned to hold Kate to him once again, "that .... ughhh ... it's a little more pleasant for a woman than a ... a, a .. a mare."

Kate shook her head at this. "I've heard it not always is - that it is about power, and control."

"God Kate," Anthony breathed, sweat rising on his brow, one hand reaching behind her neck to pull her closer while the other kept its white-knuckled hold on the bookshelf, in a desperate attempt to stop them from undoing her nightgown, or hitching up its hem, or from cupping the curve of her derriere and picking her up entirely, pressing her into the wall or pulling her down to the divan. He rested his forehead on hers, eyes closed, nudging her nose with his until her chin lifted and he could kiss her again - his lips were soft yet insistent, his mind clouded by the increasingly frantic demands from his body.

"Let me show you. How good it can be. I swear, Kate ... you will only know pleasure, and I would be faithful to you, and you only ... I swear ..."

Kate's hand was trapped between them, pressed against his cock, and it was all Anthony could do not to rut into her desperately.

You have all the power and control, Kate wanted to say. Your family controls this rumour, with your wealth and your status - the only sensible choice for me is to submit to a marriage to you, to be the rich, miserable viscountess, who would not be loved by her husband. 

"Let me show you," Anthony murmured again, his lips grazing her ear lobe, hoarse with desire.

"No, Anthony," Kate whispered back, pulling slightly away, with a deep breath. She wanted him, she wanted to know more about this pleasure that he promised, and she could not deny that his words and kisses had given the prospect of their miserable sham marriage a bright allure - but Kate also needed to settle in her heart that although he may never love her, he would at least respect her. Kate unexpectedly felt, for the first time since she had entered the library, that she suddenly had power. "Not here. Not now."

To her surprise and gratification, Anthony nodded and also pulled away, leaning into the bookshelf to breathe - this had already gone too far. He throbbed and ached with need, but he knew he had been repeatedly foolish with her virtue.

"So do we have a deal?" he attempted to ask nonchalantly, refusing to look into her face. Kate fidgeted, reaching out for her candlestick, adjusting her nightgown - trying to think, and preparing to get herself out of the library before she did anything even more foolish. Was this what it meant to be _fallen_? Should she feel shame? 

"I appreciate your terms, my lord - but you must know that if there is talk, what other choice would I have?"

As she headed to leave, Anthony grabbed her hand and pulled her back - his lips finding hers in a soft kiss. "I desire you, Kate," he breathed, "And I would marry you, and give you everything. But it was never, and is never, my intention to trap you into this."

"Likewise, Anthony," Kate whispered back, and she left.


End file.
